Five Times Horatio Accidentally Sneezed Into Something He Shouldn’t Have (And the One Time He Did it on Purpose)--tarotgal birthday fic 2020, Hornblower fandom

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For once, I'm posting the original prompt at the top of the fic, since the title gives away the core idea of the story; “Character so desperate to sneeze blindly grabs something to sneeze into... and ends up sneezing into the wrong thing.” I just took the idea and expanded on it a little.

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ONE

Life aboard ship, Horatio Hornblower had discovered, was very different to life on land. It was perhaps not the most original observance one could make, but it was still something one had to get used to. The regimentation, at least, hadn’t been too hard to adjust to; Horatio considered it an extension of his school days. It was the loss of certain routines that were the hardest, in his mind. Yes, they had been replaced by others, but he would have appreciated the familiarity of one to ease him into the other.

One such loss had been washing day. Perhaps his family was the unusual one, but every week, he and his father would scrub out their clothes in warm water, and often give themselves a rinse, besides. Doctor Hornblower said cleanliness promoted good health, and Horatio was inclined to believe him. Therefore, moving to an environment where bathing seemed optional (barring the occasional dip in the sea) had been jarring.

Still, even Horatio would occasionally describe himself as resourceful, and he found ways to create his own routines. While he still hadn’t managed to make it a set day, once a week he would swap out his neckerchief, stockings, shirt, and handkerchief for a new one, and bring the old one to the midshipman’s wardroom to give them a brief wash. It had taken some practice, but he’d learned to make a single bowl of water last long enough to at least get the worst of the dirt off. Afterwards, if there was time or extra water available, he’d clean his face and arms, figuring that a little cleanliness on the most exposed parts of his body was better than none.

His routine hadn’t gone unnoticed, of course. Most of his fellow midshipmen had laughed and shaken their heads, sure it was an affectation of land life that would fade in time. Simpson, naturally, had used it as another form of torment, to the point where Horatio had had to resort to doing it in the middle of the night or risk “losing” pieces of his uniform. As for his one ally, Archie Kennedy…well, he never said anything about it one way or the other, which was enough to earn Horatio’s gratitude. Happily, he and Archie had eventually been transferred to the Indefatigable, where Horatio’s washing habits had been observed, and, it seemed, tacitly approved of by the superior officers. It wasn’t much, but it encouraged Horatio to keep up the practice.

Today was going to be a particularly difficult wash day. Thanks to their first battle, the front of his shirt and his neckerchief were covered in gunpowder, wood fragments, and even a few streaks of blood. Horatio didn’t think he had a hope of getting everything clean, but as long as there were no obvious red stains, he would force himself to be content with that. Not wanting to waste any time, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

It actually went a lot smoother than he’d been expecting. A lot of the gunpowder slid off the clothing at the first trace of water, and a little bit of dedicated rubbing with his fingers took off the worst of the blood. In addition, Archie had joined him briefly while he’d worked on a particularly difficult spot, and the conversation between the two of them (mostly relating to Archie’s involvement in the boarding party) had allowed the time to pass quicker. By the time Horatio set aside his shirt, he was surprisingly satisfied with the results. Even better, it appeared that there would be enough warm water to give himself a brief wash as well.

He was just in the process of splashing water on his face when the ship swayed particularly hard to port. Whether there’d been a change in course or a particularly strong gust of wind, Horatio wasn’t sure, but the result was that he stumbled a little, causing the water to invade his mouth, nose, and eyes. Temporarily blinded, Horatio groped around for the tabletop to steady and compose himself. While the water hadn’t been hot enough to cause any permanent damage, it had left him with an unpleasant taste in his mouth and a growing itch in his nose as the water wreaked havoc on his sinuses. Ever proper, he groped around on the table for his just-washed handkerchief, seizing the first cloth his fingers touched and bringing it to his face. “Hih…TISHH!”

As he sighed in relief and opened his eyes, his heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that instead of grabbing his white handkerchief, he’d grabbed the blue neckerchief next to it, utterly soaking through the thin material. He instinctively looked around the room to make sure no one had seen what had just happened, before exhaling slowly and trying to determine what to do. While he could simply wash it again, he felt that he’d already used enough water for the day. He could always just ignore it, as the dark cloth wouldn’t show evidence of what he’d done and was often damp from the sea spray besides, but he would know, and besides, the thought didn’t appeal to him much. Finally, he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to wash both neckerchiefs on his next wash day. He only hoped he’d have enough water to see the job through, and that no one would be hanging around to ask questions. A midshipman shouldn’t be known to have made such amateur mistakes.

 

TWO

“Lord Grammond, Lady Ballenger, allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Hornblower,” Captain Pellew said, gesturing over to Horatio, “He’s one of my most promising officers.”

Horatio bowed, glad for the excuse to hide his flushed face. He’d never been sure how to handle praise, and hearing it from Pellew, especially when addressing distinguished company, made it all the more difficult. Archie had suggested he try to keep his face impassive “like you do when you beat us at Whist”, but try as he might, he was sure he always looked a bit stunned whenever someone offered him a compliment. Thus, he’d developed a different strategy; murmur thanks and quickly change the subject.

As he rose from the bow, he found the two aristocrats regarding him with mild curiosity. He managed a faint smile. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

“Likewise.” Lady Ballenger said, holding out her hand. Horatio bent over it, casting his mind around for a topic of conversation. It wouldn’t do to talk about battles and strategies with a lady present, and as he had no ear for music, asking her to dance was out of the question. Perhaps he could compliment her dress…?

Thankfully, Lord Grammond spoke up just as Horatio began to lift his head. “How goes the war, Captain? Are we beating the blighters back?”

Pellew was masterfully diplomatic. “I cannot say for certain, but we do seem to be gaining ground, at least when it comes to the Naval maneuvers. What the army is getting up to, of course, is their business.”

“Quite right, quite right,” Lord Grammond said, removing a small box from his pocket and flipping it open, “I’ve always said that this is a war that will be won at sea, not on land.”

“And the Navy appreciates your vote of confidence,” Pellew said, before looking at Lady Ballenger with a kind smile, “However, I am sure Lady Ballenger doesn’t wish to hear of such things. Besides, I’ve come here to be social, not to discuss matters of war and politics.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Lady Ballenger said with a faint laugh, “But as it happens, discussing matters of war and politics is a social activity nowadays. I’ve grown used to it. As long as the details aren’t too graphic, I’m as interested as the next man.”

Pellew looked a bit impressed at that. Lord Grammond, who had been fiddling with his box the whole time, smiled and offered the box to Lady Ballenger. “Then you find yourself in the right company, my lady.”

Lady Ballenger nodded her thanks to him before taking a pinch of whatever was in the box and bringing it up to her face, inhaling sharply. Just as Horatio was puzzling over what that was all about, Lord Grammond turned the box in their direction. “Would either of you gentlemen care to partake?”

Pellew raised his hand. “Thank you, but I don’t believe I require any snuff at this time. Perhaps after dinner, when my head is getting fogged by food and wine.”

At the word “snuff”, Horatio understood everything. He’d heard of the stuff before, but never actually seen it in use. It was something generally reserved for the elite, and the Hornblowers had never moved in those kind of circles. He’d always been a bit curious as to what the fuss was about, but he’d never deemed it important enough to find an answer.

Lord Grammond nodded and turned towards Horatio, allowing him to finally see that the box was full of a dark brown powder. “Of course. What about you, Lieutenant?”

Wanting to make a good impression with them (and secretly pleased that he would be able to satisfy his curiosity), Horatio nodded and reached for it. “Yes, thank you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how much to take, but having heard the expression “a pinch of snuff” before, he decided he would only take a small amount. Besides, taking too much might irritate Lord Grammond, so it was better to err on the side of caution. Once he could feel a small amount of the powder between his fingertips, he lifted it from the box, nodding his thanks once more before bringing his hand just underneath his nose and inhaling quickly, trying to follow Lady Ballenger’s example.

Immediately, the left side of his nose felt like it was on fire, and an itching sensation spread throughout his sinuses, warning of an impending sneeze. Bewildered and desperate to maintain a certain amount of politeness, Horatio had just enough time to pinch his nose between his fingers before the sneeze, or rather, the sneezes, overwhelmed him. “Inxt! Mmpt! Hmpff!”

“God bless you,” Lord Grammond said, a note of amusement in his voice, “I take it you’re still relatively new to snuff-taking, Lieutenant?”

Unable to respond properly, Horatio tried to nod, though the intent was most likely lost as his head jerked forward with more sneezes. “Ett! Knnk!”

“Good God, man, you’ll snap your head off if you keep that up,” Pellew said somewhere to his right, “Here, take this and sneeze it out. That should clear up the trouble.”

With his eyes involuntarily screwed shut due to his sneezing, Horatio couldn’t see what Pellew was offering him, but he knew it had to be a handkerchief. While he would normally have declined and sought out his own handkerchief, the situation was currently rather desperate, so Horatio gratefully turned towards Pellew’s voice, hand waving about blindly. When he finally seized on a bit of cloth, he tugged it to his face with a sharp jerk, burying his nose as deep as he could to try to muffle the sound. “Heh-chh! Itchh!”

Thankfully, Pellew seemed to be correct; letting the sneezes out freely appeared to have removed most of the irritation from Horatio’s nose. He had just sighed in relief when he realized something. There was still a heavy weight attached to the cloth at his nose, as though Pellew hadn’t released the handkerchief when Horatio grabbed it. That sort of thing being tremendously unlikely, it meant there was only one other possibility. And now that he was able to think clearly, Horatio became increasingly aware that the cloth felt rougher than you would expect from a handkerchief. Bracing himself, he tentatively opened his eyes.

Sure enough, he found that he was holding tightly onto the cuff of Pellew’s jacket, while the handkerchief his captain had been offering dangled several inches away. Face burning, Horatio let go of Pellew’s sleeve immediately, taking a few steps back. “I’m terribly sorry, sir! I just…I couldn’t…I was…”

Although Pellew’s mouth was set at an odd angle, he seemed remarkably calm as he transferred his handkerchief to his other hand and dabbed at his cuff. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Hornblower. Inexperienced snuff takers have been known to make similar mistakes. I seem to recall an incident where one young man wound up sneezing into some particularly fine lace curtains. The lady of the house was apoplectic. Besides, this will wash out easily. Now come, we must mingle with the other guests.”

“Yes, sir.” Horatio said quietly, knowing that Pellew had indicated that the matter was closed. Even so, Horatio vowed to make it up to his captain at the first opportunity. Perhaps he could ask Archie for some advice.

 

THREE

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us for some card games?” Archie said, looking over his shoulder as he opened the door, “I’m pretty sure I could talk them into some whist…”

“I appreciate your efforts, Archie,” Horatio responded with a faint smile, “But I’d rather stay here and read. After all, it’s not very often that you have space to yourself on a ship of war.”

“Very true,” Archie said with a nod and an understanding grin, “I’ll leave you to it, then, though feel free to come join us if you change your mind. Until then, enjoy your reading.”

With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him. Horatio sighed, rolling his shoulders before removing his jacket and hanging it up beside his cloak. He was truly glad to have Archie as his friend and bunkmate, but he had to admit that he relished the rare occasions when he could have a little privacy. Sometimes he wondered if others felt the same way; it seemed everyone from the crewmen to the officers liked to spend their off-hours socializing with each other. It was a troubling thought, but as long as he did his duties and remained cordial with everyone, Horatio didn’t see much point in worrying about it too much. Though perhaps he’d find a way to discuss it with Archie at some point.

Crossing over to his seachest, Horatio knelt down and opened the lid. While he’d mostly packed the chest with practical, essential items, he’d been sure to leave room for a few books. There was his copy of Gibbon, and Clark’s Book of Seamanship of course, but he’d also packed a volume of Aristotle’s works and, when he was in the mood for lighter reading, a collection of Greek myths. After a moment’s consideration, he decided fiction appealed to him more than history or philosophy at the moment, and set about looking for it. Naturally, it was at the very bottom of the chest, wedged into a corner and buried under his clothes, but at least it still looked like it was in good condition.

After he extracted the book, Horatio shut his seachest and moved over to the desk, where the light was best. Sitting down, he set the book in front of him and flipped the pages idly, not particularly caring where he landed. While he normally wasn’t given to flights of fancy, it seemed appropriate to let Fate decide which myth he’d start with.

Just as he stopped fanning through the pages, he caught a strong smell of dust and immediately realized his mistake. The book had been old to begin with, purchased secondhand while Horatio had been at school, and thus always smelling faintly of must. He also hadn’t touched the book in at least six months, and while it wouldn’t accumulate dust as fast when enclosed in the seachest, it was inevitable that it would have picked up at least a thin layer. And now he’d carelessly released it into the air, in a manner that all but guaranteed that he would breathe it in. In a way, he deserved what was coming.

All these thoughts flashed through Horatio’s mind in the few seconds between inhaling the dust and his nose reacting in the expected fashion. Had the exposure been more gradual, he might have had time to grab his handkerchief, or possibly even rub his nose to ward off the sneezes. As it was, all he could do was close his eyes and brace himself.

“Hishh! Pshh! Tichh! Hit-KISHHH!”

Fortunately, other than the sneezes themselves, there didn’t seem to have been any damage done. His hands and arms had already been on the desk, and his body was far enough away from the desk that he hadn’t wound up knocking into it. That was a bruise he had no desire to try to explain. Once he was sure that the sneezes had stopped, he sniffed carefully and withdrew his handkerchief, rubbing at his nose before finally opening his eyes. That was when he discovered that there had been a casualty, after all.

Apparently his head had been closer to the desk than he’d thought, because the two pages he’d stopped on looked suspiciously splotched. It would be easy to pass off for water damage from the sea spray, but in the here and now, Horatio flushed and tried to blot the worst of it away with his sleeve, not wanting to risk using his handkerchief and picking up any lingering dust.

“It could be worse.” he said at last, once he’d done all he could. And there was truth to that; no one had witnessed the incident, the book hadn’t been damaged beyond repair, and most of the dust had been cleaned off the pages, even if it was unintentional. Hopefully, there would be no further incidents like this for quite some time. Leaning back in the chair, Horatio began to read, having “chosen” the tale of Echo and Narcissus. He just hoped Fate wasn’t trying to tell him something.

 

FOUR

Horatio looked around the dock, wondering what to do with himself. He had two days leave, but unlike the rest of the Indy’s crew, he had no specific plans. Visiting the pub didn’t hold much appeal for him, and he wasn’t much interested in the company of a woman, either. There was always whist, of course, but he couldn’t spend all his leave at the card table. With no brilliant ideas coming to him, Horatio decided to explore the town a little. This was a section of England he hadn’t seen before, after all.

Half-an-hour of walking due north brought Horatio to the outskirts of the port, and as he glanced around, he was struck by how green everything was. It was probably a commonplace sight to the inhabitants, but for a sailor, the sight of green was always a surprise, and not always a pleasant one. This, however, was a lovely sight, the grass almost glowing in the sunlight as brightly colored wildflowers swayed in the faint breeze. Horatio allowed himself to smile as he stepped forward to investigate it further.

As he crossed the road and entered one of the fields, he became aware of a vague itchy sensation in his nose and eyes, but was able to ignore it for the most part. He’d always suffered from a touch of hayfever, but it was generally more of a mild irritation than a genuine problem. Walking around a garden at the height of spring would probably lead to disaster in more ways than one, but otherwise, the worst effects Horatio suffered were light itching and a few sneezes every day. He was more than happy to put up with that, even though he’d certainly be the first to admit that he was happy that the long months at sea often kept him away from the worst of hayfever season.

The return of his hayfever notwithstanding, however, Horatio was in fine humor. The weather was good, their last battle had been a success, the rumors they’d heard suggested that the French were being beaten back, and now they could look forward to fresh food and water for a few weeks. Couple that with Horatio’s own good health, money in his pocket, and a few days to do what he liked, and it was no wonder that he was feeling relatively cheerful for once. Had he been interested in music, he probably would have been humming as he wandered across the field, enjoying the sun and breeze on his face and the faint scent of the flowers around him.

After about five minutes of this, one particular scent caught Horatio’s attention. It was lovely, sweet without being too cloying, and he looked down out of curiosity. He’d wandered into a patch of wildflowers that, at a glance, had the look of crumpled paper (or perhaps a used handkerchief was more apropos) and had a wide range of colors, from pure white to bright red. He knelt down to take a closer look, reaching out and letting his fingers brush against the petals. While they did rustle slightly at his touch, the petals were soft. He reached out and gently plucked the nearest plant, a bluish-purple stalk, bringing it to his face. He knew that there was a chance that this would aggravate his hayfever, but if crouching among them hadn’t set him off, then a quick sniff probably wouldn’t do any more damage than a sneeze or two. Pulling out his handkerchief to hold at the ready, he inhaled carefully.

For a moment, everything seemed all right. The smell was even more pleasant up close, and though his nose wrinkled slightly as the petals brushed over it, it didn’t immediately react. Just as Horatio lowered the flower (lack of response or not, he wasn’t taking any chances), however, the itch in his nose bloomed into something more intense, and Horatio brought his hand back to his face out of instinct. “CHISHH!”

It was only as he started to sniff and rub his nose with his handkerchief that he realized that it wasn’t cloth that was touching his face. The material was too thin and wasn’t covering his entire nose and mouth. What made it most obvious, however, was another strong whiff of the flower’s scent as he sniffed, followed immediately by the itch coming back to his nose. Horatio barely had enough time to drop the flower and lift the handkerchief towards his face before the sneezing started.

“Heh-PSHHT! HICHMM! HASHH!”

The sneezes were powerful enough to remove the worst of the irritation, but the sharp, lingering tickle at the back of his nose told him he wasn’t quite done yet. All it currently meant was that his sneezes decreased in volume but increased in frequency. “Tchh! Itchh! Pshh! Eshh! Shh!” Afraid that trying to stand up would just lead to a sneeze sending him tumbling to the ground and making the situation worse, Horatio managed to get the handkerchief over his nose and mouth, tensing his muscles to keep himself upright but otherwise letting the sneezes out freely. “Atchh! Hchh!”

It felt like he’d been sneezing for a solid minute before the itch abated enough for him to stand. His chest burned when he drew a careful breath through his mouth, his legs wobbled slightly, and there was still a nagging tickle that suggested that he would still have to deal with a few more sneezes. But for all that, it didn’t seem like any serious damage had been done. Even so, it seemed wise for him to return to the inn, wash his face, and then look around for a game of cards. Exploring, Horatio concluded, was something he should do as little as possible during this leave.

 

FIVE

“Savage!” Horatio called to the passing midshipman, “Go to my cabin and get Polwheal to fetch the maps, if you please!”

“Aye, sir!” Savage said, managing to touch his brow before hurrying towards the cabin. Horatio nodded his satisfaction, turning his attention back to the mess in front of him. Well, “mess” wasn’t exactly charitable; the Lydia had certainly been knocked about during the battle, but it had dealt far worse damage to the enemy ship, the Parcours, which had finally surrendered after a particularly good broadside from the Lydia’s port cannons. Now all that was left was to assess the damage, make repairs, and figure out which officer should take command of the prize ship. Well, that and determine the closest English port, hence the maps.

Horatio was listening to Frost’s assessment of the damage to the masts when Savage returned with the various maps and charts. “Thank you, Savage,” Horatio said with a nod, managing to gather all of them up in one go, “Oh, and tell your division that they performed exceptionally well. I believe they were at least partially responsible for that last broadside.”

Savage beamed. “I will, sir. Thank you, sir!”

He hurried off again, clearly eager to relay the compliment. Horatio allowed himself a bit of a smile at Savage’s enthusiasm, then waved Bush over and picked his way towards the nearest horizontal surface so he could spread out the maps. “We need to send a man out with the Parcours,” he explained as soon as Bush was in earshot, “Do you have any suggestions?”

Bush was silent for a moment, clearly considering. “I think the ship’s a little too big for Savage to handle, especially as this would be his first time commanding a prize ship,” he said at last, “But one of the senior midshipmen could probably do the job. Which leaves Knyvett or Hooker. And since one never knows when we’ll need the cutter, I guess the honor will fall to Knyvett.”

Horatio nodded. “That will serve. I’ll inform him once we’ve got the repairs underway. But first, there’s the matter of his route…”

With that, he bent over the maps and sea charts (barely pinned down by elbows and debris) and lost himself in calculations. Truth be told, he welcomed the exercise; it allowed his mind and body to calm down from the rush of battle, so he could face the upcoming challenges with his usual façade of implacability. And since he was clearly concentrating on the task at hand, it was unlikely that anyone would interrupt him, which made it all the better.

Barely two minutes into his musings, however, he became aware of another issue. Now that his body was starting to relax, it was registering other sensations, like the soreness in his knee from when he’d rapped it against the leg of his desk in his haste to get on deck, or the stinging sensation of a brisk breeze in his face…or the heavy scents of smoke and gunpowder in the air, which the aforementioned breeze seemed determined to blow across the deck, instead of dispersing it properly. Glancing up, he could almost swear that there was a grey haze all along the deck, clinging to everything. He bent over the maps again, but now he was acutely aware of the thick, acrid scent of smoke and powder. It filled his mouth, making an already dry throat even worse, it burned at his lungs, and it was starting to irritate his nose. He swallowed and rubbed at his nose, hoping to remove the worse of the sensations, but all it did was spread the taste across more of his mouth and dull the itch in his nose for a few seconds. At that, Horatio decided to finish his task as fast as possible, at which point he would discreetly retire below for a drink of water and slightly fresher air.

At last, he’d not only figured out the closest friendly port, but the ideal route to get there. With a decisive nod, he straightened up, noting that Bush had moved off to oversee repairs, but was standing close by in case Horatio needed him for anything more. Grateful for Bush’s consideration, he waited for Bush to turn his way so he could give him a nod, busying himself with rolling up the maps in the meantime. This was a mistake, because in addition to keeping his hands occupied, it drew his attention elsewhere, which allowed the itch in his nose a certain amount of free reign.

Thus, when Bush finally turned in his direction, Horatio’s nod was interrupted by a spike of discomfort in his nose, one that made it clear that he was seconds away from sneezing. All he really had time to do was press his arms firmly against his sides, to prevent the charts from slipping out and spilling all over the deck. “Hup-TCHH!”

The first thing Horatio registered after the sneeze was that the worst of the irritation was gone, but there was still a lingering itch that suggested he had better get below before he breathed in much more of the smoke. The second thing he registered was the feeling of something against his nose, something about as thin as a handkerchief but much more rough to the touch. Heart sinking, Horatio lifted his head and opened his eyes, confirming his suspicions. Sure enough, there was a wet spot on his Atlantic sea chart that had most certainly not come from sea spray. Face burning, he glanced around to see if anyone had seen, and met Bush’s gaze again. Bush’s face remained impassive, but he did withdraw a handkerchief and hold it up, tilting his head in Horatio’s direction. Horatio just shook his head, crammed the remaining charts under his arm without a care of how crumpled they’d get, and hurried downstairs before something similar could occur. At least the damage to his pride had been minimal, but Horatio loathed sneezing in front of people if he could help it. Who knew what they would wind up thinking of him?

 

SIX

“Allez!” barked the guard, shoving Horatio forward, “Vous marchez comme un tortue!”

Horatio decided not to respond, partially because it wouldn’t do much good, and partially because his head was too fogged to come up with the proper French. Just mentally translating it was taxing enough. All he could do was try to quicken his pace and hope they were close to their destination.

It took three more shoves and a lot more invective from the guard before they arrived at the office of Monsieur Gurell, the head of the prison. Once they were allowed entrance, the guard shoved Horatio with such force that he nearly fell to his knees, before saying something to Gurell and closing the door behind him. “My apologies, Captain Hornblower,” Gurell said, coming over to assist Horatio in straightening up, “Tiver has never been one for patience. That means he does not treat the higher ranking prisoners with the proper respect.”

Horatio turned his head and muffled a cough into his shoulder. “A holdover from the days of Robespierre, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Gurell agreed, guiding Horatio to a chair, “I shall attempt to reason with him once more, regardless. I trust the rest of your stay has been better?”

“I regret your prison is not up to the standards of the Spanish,” Horatio answered, trying to keep his tone conversational, “They may have shoved escapees into a pit, but their cells were much better at keeping out the chill.”

Gurell’s eyes briefly flashed with anger, to Horatio’s immense satisfaction. Then Gurell squared his shoulders and straightened his cravat, back to his usual self. “Yes, I’d heard that you’d taken ill. It’s part of the reason I sent for you, actually.”

“Oh?” Horatio said, “Do you intend to send me to the infirmary for something as mild as a cold? Or are you afraid that my staying in my current cell will cause it to develop into pneumonia?”

“I’m afraid we have no better accommodations,” Gurell said, “But I could arrange for thicker blankets for you, as well as hot tea with every meal, in order to help speed your recovery.”

“Very generous of you,” Horatio said, “But I suspect you won’t just give them to me.”

“That is correct,” Gurell said, “All I ask in return is that you write a few things down for me.”

Horatio scoffed, not even minding that the effect was marred by another cough. “I expected better of you, Monsieur. My mind isn’t so dulled that you can convince me to give up any military secrets.”

Gurell put a hand to his chest. “I am offended by your accusation, sir! I would never take advantage of an ill man like that! But I will not consider this a deliberate slight; as you said, your mind is addled from your illness.”

“How kind,” Horatio said, “Why did you send for me, then?”

Gurell slid a sheet of paper and an inkwell across the desk towards him. “I thought perhaps you’d be so kind as to write a statement about the treatment you and your men have received in this prison. We will have it published in our paper, which will eventually be seen by your fellow Englishmen and reassure them that we are not being unnecessarily cruel to our prisoners of war.”

Horatio maintained eye contact. “Very well. I’d be happy to write an honest statement, especially if it allows me a few more creature comforts.”

As he expected, Gurell’s eyes slid from his. “Well…I was intending to dictate the letter to you. You see, the letter must be in French so the majority of the populace can understand, and while your French is quite good, we want the letter to sound natural. Besides, in your current condition, you may have trouble coming up with the right words.”

“But of course,” Horatio said, “And if I should decline?”

“I would be deeply upset,” Gurell answered, “Which would make it harder for me to concentrate on my duties. Why, I might be so distracted that I would make errors in my next request for supplies, which could lead to reduced rations for you and your men.”

“I would hate to leave you in such an emotionally compromised state,” Horatio said dryly, “I suppose writing the letter would be better for all involved, then.”

Gurell beamed, happy that Horatio had come to his senses, and moved to the door. Once Tiver had unlocked Horatio’s shackles and been dismissed once more, Gurell stood behind Horatio. “Now then, shall we begin?”

Horatio dutifully picked up the quill and began to write what Gurell told him, his mind trying, despite his cold, to figure out a way to go against Gurell’s intention. He wrote slowly and occasionally asked Gurell to repeat himself, turning over his options. Trying to write the letter in such a way that the first letter of each line would spell out a message was a possibility, but depending on the words Gurell chose, that might prove impossible. Deliberately allowing drops of ink to land under certain words was also an option, but Gurell might insist the letter had to be pristine, and there was no guarantee that anyone in England would figure out the code. Something similar might happen if he wrote certain letters or words in a different hand. It seemed there was no way out of the predicament, which caused Horatio a painful stab of guilt. He detested the lie, but depriving his men of food, especially as winter was approaching, was not an option.

Halfway through the letter, he had to pause to cough into his arm, and that’s when the idea occurred to him. He’d need to be very careful about it, of course, and there was a chance it would end poorly, but it was the best option available at the moment. He dipped the quill in the ink and motioned for Gurell to continue, biding his time.

When Gurell’s words suggested they were reaching the end of the letter, Horatio bent himself further over the paper, on the pretense of concentration. He turned his head every so often, looking over his words…and allowing the quill to brush against his nose over and over again. It took far longer than he liked, but eventually, the barbs of the quill mixed with the congestion in his head and sparked an itch. He left it be, continuing to write, occasionally touching the quill to his nose to encourage the itch to grow.

At last, Gurell said “Avec la sincérité, Captain Horatio Hornblower and whatever titles you deem fit.”

Horatio nodded and made the signature, brushing the quill under his nose one last time, putting a flourish under his name that allowed the quill to invade both sides of his nose. As he lifted the quill from the paper, he could tell that his efforts had not been in vain. “Th-there…” he said, dropping the quill in the inkwell, “I hope ih-it meets with your sahhtisfaction.”

“Are you all right, Captain?” Gurell said, his voice sounding both confused and concerned.

“F-fine,” Horatio said, “J-just a sneeze.”

“Ah, of course,” Gurell said, “Well, A vos souhaits in advance, then.”

Horatio nodded, then made his move. As his eyes closed, his hand groped around on the table, closed around the letter, and brought it to his nose. “ERSHHHH!!”

Gurell immediately started shouting at him in French, all composure forgotten. For his part, Horatio immediately dropped the crumpled, sodden letter on the desk and stared between the letter and Gurell in what he hoped passed for horror. “I’m so sorry!” he said, “It was a reflex. I always reach for a handkerchief when I’m about to sneeze, and when I touched the letter, I just assumed…”

Gurell gave him a hard stare. Horatio held his gaze, widening his eyes and sniffing, partly to encourage the act but partly out of genuine need. “I’d be happy to write it out for you again, of course. I know how important this is.”

Gurell calmed down significantly at that. “You would?”

“Yes. However,” he sniffed again and rubbed at his nose, “It will have to wait until I’ve recovered, I’m afraid. My nose tends to get more sensitive as my colds progress, and there’s a chance this incident could repeat itself.”

Gurell nodded. “Indeed. Well then, I shall leave you to your recovery. But to speed your recovery, I’ll supply the promised blankets and tea.”

“Merci.” Horatio said, standing up and allowing himself to be shackled once more. As Tiver began shoving him back towards his cell, Horatio smiled. He’d gained a few days to try to find another way to sabotage the letter. Furthermore, he’d be allowed to visit his men in a day or two, at which point he’d be able to ask them directly if they’d be willing to accept reduced rations. If they said yes, then he could claim to Gurell that his willingness to write the letter had been due to his altered state of mind, and now that his mind was clear, he had no intention of lying to his country. He hadn’t given his word that he would write the letter, after all, so neither he nor Gurell could call it a breach of honor.

He turned his head and coughed into his shoulder once more. He still hated falling ill, but for once, it had helped rather than hindered his ability to serve the Navy. And if that meant having ink smeared across his nose for a few days, then so be it.

[solitaire-au]

😍 (I listened to my sea shanty playlist while reading this.)

I especially loved:

- Horatio’s ill-advised first attempt at using snuff and accidentally sneezing into Pelkew’s sleeve, and Pellew’s deft handling of the situation, doing his best to spare Horatio any further embarrassment,

- Horatio getting hay fever (is that canon btw?) and accidentally sniffing the flower pollen and the resulting sneezing fit,

- Captain Horatio being embarrassed that anyone saw him sneeze, even his friend and XO Bush, 

- Horatio subtly inducing a sneeze with the quill then explosively sneezing into the letter to ruin it, and his bald-faced lie that he thought it was a handkerchief!

Thank you! 💗

[Wig_Powder]

@solitaire-au I'm really glad you enjoyed it, enough to put on fitting music while you read it! Thanks so much for such a detailed comment, too!

To answer your question about the hayfever, I'm pretty sure there's no mention of Horatio having hayfever in either the miniseries or the books. However, Ioan Gruffudd, Horatio's actor, has mentioned on at least two occasions that he has hayfever, so I decided to give Horatio the same condition, both here and in a lot of my other fics. It keeps my options for sneeze causes open, if nothing else.